Returning to 'Running Around Naked'
The author of a nudist family memoir on visiting a naturist club after decades away
I pause in my packing, taking in the fancy floral cocktail dress, my husband’s buttoned down shirts and slacks, when I am struck by absurdity.
What am I thinking? We’re going to a nudist resort.
The thing is, I want to be taken seriously. I’m an outsider now, an author, no longer the wild child running around naked. Still, the over the top clothing suddenly feels ridiculous.
I shoot a text to Susan Shopiro. She has invited me to the Women’s International Day at Cypress Cove Nudist Resort in Kissimmee, Florida as a guest speaker. We will be staying the entire weekend.
Do guests dress for dinner? I mean like dress dress?
Her reply is immediate.
No! Wear as much or as little as you like.
A smile spreads across my face.
“Honey,” I call out, “we need to rethink our wardrobe.”
Running Around Naked
I published my memoir Running Around Naked a year ago. The story covers my early life of growing up in my parent’s South Florida nudist camp. It’s a fun but honest read. Sales have been doing fairly well considering I tend to avoid marketing. Though I performed nude on stage throughout my adolescence, those days are far behind me. I seem to have developed a fear of public speaking. This is not helpful when promoting your work. Susan has assured me that I will feel completely comfortable with moderator Lyn.
I return the dress clothes and heels to the closet and pull out light sundresses and flat sandals. I add shorts and tennis shoes in case I can get some pickleball in. When I was young, nudists were all about volleyball. Now, pickleball is all the rage. Is this due to new trends? Or the increased mean age of nudists?
I do not pack a swimsuit. Cypress Cove has a large lake, two pools and a hot tub. Clothing is optional, unless you are in the pool. No bathing suits allowed. I know this from my early years. It’s all or nothing when swimming. This rule actually creates many nudists. It’s hot out, you want to get cool. Time to skinny dip.
The drive is three and a half hours. We get off the turnpike to head west through open fields dotted with occasional Spanish moss oaks, orange groves, and small farms. This scenery is typical of the parks I grew up with, set on the outskirts of society. Then the GPS turns us back east, passing neighborhoods and schools. The traffic increases. Just past a plaza featuring Chipotle, the GPS says we have arrived. It has to be wrong. We’re in the middle of a city. It’s been decades since I’ve been here and I don’t remember this. But ahead, on the right, is a modern entrance (which looks like an upscale subdivision) proclaiming Cypress Cove on stone landscaping. We have most certainly arrived.
When my family traveled in the 1970s to other nudist parks, everyone knew us. My parents were fellow club owners and board members. Our park was called Seminole Health Club and we were making a name for ourselves. Our members showed up to events wearing Native American headdresses, headbands and bells on our wrists and ankles. The actual tribes who lived near our camp were friends. They built our tiki huts and wrestled alligators in our pool. We meant no offense.
The burning question
Now, at the entrance gatehouse, I have to explain who I am and what I am doing there.
“Oh yes, the author. I think Susan mentioned you were coming.”
Driving through the park, a camp member pedals by. I wave to the bare gray-bearded cyclist. Here we go. I look over at Tom to check his response. I met my husband many years after I had left nudism and a few years after the family camp had been sold. He keeps a poker face but his eyes are smiling.
“So…are we going to, uh, participate?” Tom asks.
He has asked me this question a few times already.
“I’m going to let you lead the way. If you do it, so will I.”
He is still noncommittal. Still having a hard time believing that a group of people can be nude without anything sexual going on.
I am not going to push Tom. After all, I’m not really sure I can return to publicly sans clothes myself. It’s been a long time since I rock n’ rolled (naked).
Cypress Cove office is set up like a tropical hotel lobby with various nudist items stacked on the shelves. Sunscreen, sunglasses, bumper stickers with witty lines such as “See More of Your Friends,” but it is a booklet that really catches my eye. The cover is green and lush with caricatures of active nude bodies of all shapes and sizes. The title reads, “The Beginner’s Guide to Taking it All Off.” I pick up a copy for Tom. Just in case.
We have been invited to a five o’clock meet and greet dinner at the Lakeside Restaurant and we are five minutes late. I have on white shorts and a sleeveless blouse. Tom is also dressed in casual attire. The other guests are anywhere from fully clothed to tops-only to completely nude. Just as Susan had informed me, you can dine however you like. We chat with the other friendly vendors and speakers here for the event. Our table of mostly women share appetizers of muscles, escargot and crab cakes which are unexpectedly delicious. Tom brings us drinks from the bar. I sip my martini and think of my own childhood camp which did not encourage alcohol. At our dances, where alcohol was likely, clothes were mandatory. Times have changed.
Barely Proper
I had sent a DVD copy of a movie my dad co-produced from 1974 called “Barely Proper.” Seminole Health Club had presented plays each weekend—Barely Proper, Nude Awakening, Next of Skin and the musical, Mother Nature. All were created to promote the lifestyle of nudism. Growing up, I was always a part of this promotion.
A storyline was added around the play Barely Proper to create the movie. I had donated the only copy left of the film to the Nudist Research Library here at Cypress Cove. They will be showing the film this evening. I’m happy to know this library exists. Finally, a place to preserve all of my family history featured in home movies and albums which are currently hidden under beds and in closets.
I have documented our early nudist life in my memoir. I would never change these years or my coming of age story but I have since joined the “outsiders.” I no longer feel comfortable with my naked body and am overly aware of passing windows without clothes. I hide behind robes or towels.
The audience assembles in the clubhouse. I sit in the back with Tom and self consciously watch my eleven year old self perform on film. I know exactly when the laughter will rise. I still know all the words to the play; which I much prefer to the movie.
After the film, I stand at the front to answer questions. I’m comfortable with the give and take of Q&A sessions. It’s the monologues that terrify me.
“Were the actors all nudists?”
“No, but the actors who performed in the play were.”
“Are you still a nudist?”
I hesitate, a little uncomfortable. Will they think I’m a traitor? Also, I don’t want to give away my book’s ending, but I decide to answer honestly.
“No, not anymore.”
Another hand raises. I point to the darkly tanned gentleman in the crowd.
“Why did you leave?”
Here I smile. “You’ll have to read the book.”
We spend the night in a lovely hotel room and wake up early to set up our tent on Vendor’s Row. Another tent close by is already in place for the speakers scheduled for the day. White chairs lineup in front. I will be the last speaker of the day.
Diving in
Tom is off playing pickleball on one of the eight courts. He’s removed his t-shirt. About half of the players wear nothing but tennis shoes. Dressed in a tank top and shorts, I am happy to get in one tough game before heading to my booth.
I introduce myself to the other vendors who have set up in a line near me. A couple of them promote Nude Beaches. Under one awning, a nude photography book is displayed. The cover shows the faces of six women of various races and ages and the title Bodies and Souls: The Century Project. I flip through the pages and am struck by the raw images of nude females from crowning at birth to age ninety-four. It is a celebration of women, inclusive of all body types. Each of their stories are told opposite their photo, revealing emotional and sometimes physical scars, or the absence of breasts or limbs. They are all beautiful. It’s hard for me to express how moving I find these stories and images. I learn that these few books are the last ones left; the book is no longer in distribution. I make a deal and trade one of my books for one of theirs. I am grateful to have my own copy.
One of the vendors is promoting the club spa and giving free chair massages. How can I pass that up? I add my name to the list. When it's my turn, I pull my tank top down to my elbows, exposing the upper portion of my back. I think I would feel comfortable taking off my top completely but I’m not sure how Tom would feel about that. The massage is wonderful and my tension for the upcoming interview is rubbed away.
I greet those who stop by my tent and are interested in my story. I answer questions and sign the copies that are sold. In my best cursive, I write “I hope you enjoy…” above the title Running Around Naked. The nude bodies surrounding me do not affect me in the least. This was once my way of life. I do wonder how it is affecting my husband.
By noon, Tom has tired of pickleball and stops by to see how I am doing.
“I think I’ll take a rest by the lake,” he tells me. He seems relaxed here.
“How are you doing?” I ask.
“Great. It’s not a big deal really.”
Ah-hah. He’s starting to get it. I smile. “I’ll try to come over when it slows down.”
I watch Tom for a moment, as he positions a lounge chair for the best rays. The sun glints off the lake behind him. I go back to being Jelaine Lombardi, author at your service. I meet a few others who are writing their stories and share what I have learned along the way.
I’m browsing through the photography book when I hear my name called. I squint to the lake where Tom is standing tall and proud in all his glory.
“Come on over!” He calls out, waving an arm. He then gives a “Woo Hoo!” and shakes his hips, showing off his bare moves. He did it. He has taken the plunge! A warmth rises in me and I burst out laughing at his enthusiasm. He’s nearly sixty-seven years old and acting like an adolescent. It seems I will have to join him. After all, a deal’s a deal.
I walk to the beach, pulling off my sleeveless top and shorts—shedding forty years of modesty. The cool breeze on my body is exhilarating. I remember this feeling. I’ve come full circle.
I am a child once more. 🪐
Learn more about Jelaine’s book, ‘Running Around Naked’ on her website, here.
Or buy a copy right now on Amazon.
More reading:
 | A guest post by
|
Thank you. I wrote my memoir as honestly as possibly. The truth is never black and white — all good or all bad. As I say it the beginning, it was mostly a fun (and crazy) childhood. I would not have wanted my upbringing any different. : )
As a youngster, I learned of nudism. Most likely from some of the same publications now saved in the Library at Cyprus Cove. Unlike the author, I wasn’t able to experience Running Around Naked as she did. Looking forward to reading the book I just ordered as it hopefully will show me what I missed in my younger years.
I did however get to experience nudism much like she did with her husband much later. My wife felt the same as she described her husband did, but after seeing it with her own eyes, now acts like a little one when the clothes come off.
Great Post!